


Dissecting the Scars of Bellamy Blake

by Of_Frost_and_Fire



Series: You will be damaged and scarred (you will continue to hunger) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fist Fights, Poetic, Rage, Self-Reflection, Temporary Character Death, season 1 bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Frost_and_Fire/pseuds/Of_Frost_and_Fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t a prince, he was the dragon. He was the one who breathed fire, fought tooth and nail to keep his princess safe, guarding her from what she could not fight all by herself. He lay in waiting when she would need him, ready to protect her. You see, he realized the difference between the prince and dragon was not their status or appearance. The difference was that the prince thought his prize would be the princess, the dragon was simply content knowing she was safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dissecting the Scars of Bellamy Blake

Anger was easy. Anger was an outlet, a firecracker that sparked every time a flame was set inside his chest. The earth had a holiday where they were celebrate their independence with the use of gunpowder and color, cracking them across the sky in joy to commemorate their own freedom. His anger like gunpowder underneath layers of skin, the sparks seared his muscles making tendon jump with readiness and the crack was the sound of someone else’s bones breaking under his fist.

Rage was understandable. Rage filled his body with adrenaline like an IV needle, pumping him with the will to push forward with broken ribs and shattered pride. It was morphine at its finest. When he first got the taste of what other human beings could do to another, what he would do for his own blood, rage soothed away his consciousness. It numbed him so that he could keep war in his eyes and monitor his heart rate in hope that no one else could notice that it was beating too fast for someone who was supposed to lead nations.

Hate was simple. Hate had already nested itself into his soul, making a home in the darkness that has resided there the moment he knew that his sister would never see another face beside his own. Hate kept his eyes open at night, reading books of Greek gods and warriors who were both raised up and fallen by the hand of others who had greater power. He wished that he was born stupid. That he could be ignorant to the way his mother sold herself for rations, blind to the caste system he would have to endure for the rest of his miserable life. Hate was simple because it was quickly accessible.

He had the scars to prove it.

But the moment he saw her it was like a tidal wave pulled itself from him, pushing at her, trying to make her break because he needed her to break in order for him to hold on to what he knew. Because sometimes the only oxygen he had when drowning was the fire inside him, forcing him to keep breaking the surface over and over.

Instead the small girl with big eyes took his anger, held it in her hands and gave it out to the masses like motivation.

She took his rage, shoved it back at him with courage, kept his finger from the trigger until he learned to click on the safety.

This small golden haired princess took his hate and juxtaposed it with compassion, handed it back to him and called it revolution.

So the moment he was told that the princess was not inside the walls at sundown for the second day in a row, his fists shook and he knew that this was what a withdrawal must feel like. They had built a society, a system. They had learned to build houses, learned to survive, separated themselves from the people of the Ark and created their own civilization so why in the hell did this still happen? His heart beat quickened, a fire had been set in his chest and he could feel the sparks on his fingertips.

“Bell, you need to calm down.” Octavia said slowly, watching him pace back and forth from one wall of the drop ship to the other.

“Has Camp Jaha seen anything?” he demanded, his dark eyes looking at the group before him. The darkness of the night casted shadows where the flames did not hit. He could see a trepidation in their eyes, the female mechanic in the corner didn’t bother to meet his gaze at all while his sister watched him closely.

“No,” Octavia answered, crossing her arms, “They had a search party sent out all day. Lexa said that her scouts haven’t seen anything either.”

“What makes you think they’re not lying?” he hissed, slamming his fist into Clarke’s table, watching everything shake on impact. Unfazed, Octavia stepped up to her brother with determination. She had the look in her eye that Clarke did when he said something stupid. That look that told him that he was over reacting and needed to understand first.

“Lexa made the treaty with Clarke. The last thing she wants is for Clarke to go missing. Our trade would stop and so would peace. We can send another group out tomorrow--”

“I’ll be in that group,” Bellamy stated, brow furrowed as he headed back toward the entrance of the ship, shoving past the others. Jasper and Monty looked at each other with worry before glancing at Raven who still refused to look at their leader. Miller and Murphy quickly moved in behind him, two ready soldiers in wait for orders.

“Bell! You cant just rush out of camp!” Jasper chimed in, bravely jogging out in front of the man. “You and Clarke are all we got, if you leave and something happens to you--”

“Octavia will be in charge.” Bellamy answered, side stepping the boy. Jasper moved with him, trying to make his back bone stand straighter.

“We can send out more search parties, you don’t--”

Bellamy grabbed the front of the boy’s shirt, jerking him up so that they were eye to eye. His lip was raised in a sneer while his fist shook and knuckles turned white against the darkness of the cloth. He felt his insides begin to go numb, felt the helplessness ebb away with the liquid drug that prickled at the back of his neck. His ferocity was aimed at the lanky boy this time, no grounder or mountain men to blame yet.

“Clarke is out there, somewhere, hurt or dying alone and all you got is--”

“She’s not alone!”

Everything seemed to stop and in the sleeping camp, he probably could’ve heard a pin drop. There was panic on their faces, a mix of fear like someone had yelled ‘gas leak’. Each face turned to look at the beautiful mechanic that was now in the crosshairs of his attention. He let go of Jasper, letting him get his bearings while trying to figure out why the hope in his chest (she was not alone) was slowly being snuffed out by the way the girl with box springs in her throat refused to look at his face.

“Who’s with her?” he asked, his voice was a low baritone, vibrating out of his chest like a warning.

“Finn. Finn left with her yesterday afternoon.” Murphy sighed, bracing himself for his leaders temper the moment that name fell from his chapped lips.

Bellamy didn’t move though. There was a moment where everyone held their breath while he was counting his own. All the anger and rage for the princess had rushed through him, pulling out of him at the name that made his blood boil in a way that he was unaccustomed. It wasn’t the same as looking down a barrel at a man who hurt his sister. It wasn’t the same as pushing through open wounds to protect those who needed him. No, this was entirely different. It was the hate that nestled in his darkness mixed with jealousy and bitterness that only came from his heart when regarding _her_.

The rebel leader didn’t give an order, simply turned and walked back towards his cabin. He counted each step, counted every breath because a small blue eyed doctor once told him that it would help calm the storm in his soul if he took the time to count to ten.

_One: If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars,_

_I would sacrifice this body to the sky hoping to resurrect someone spiteful enough to not care about you anymore._

He ignored the calls of his name, ignored the way Miller took control of the situation and began to plan another search party to leave tomorrow morning. It was easy to shove away their voices when he was focusing on just being left alone. There was a weight in his gut, sinking in his chest and he was sure that he might just drown. He wished it was that easy, wished only for a moment that this was the Ark and he could walk away from her at his leisure.

Bellamy opened the door of his cabin, the darkness was welcoming the moment he slammed the door closed behind him. He leaned back against the hard wood door, not as smooth as he would’ve liked it but they were still learning. He let himself slide to the floor, the sound of his gun clunked onto the wood as he placed his head in his hands.

This wasn’t the Ark. She was never someone anyone could walk away from. She was a gorgeous earth quake, a natural disaster that no one was prepared for yet thanked the heavens that it created something worth living for.

He ran his hands through his unruly hair, taking in a breath. Christ, it was times like today where he wished that she was just the self-centered, elitist princess he thought her to be. It would be that much easier to leave her, cut their losses and move on. But since when was it ever easy to cut of the most important part of yourself?

Another breath.

_Two: Staple me to a cross. Pierce my side with a broken promise_

_and I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance._

The first night she had stayed in his cabin, she had walked into it like a bandit. Softly and deliberately, she tiptoed to his bed and tapped his shoulder lightly. The fire was still burning, illuminating her features and the clothes she usually wore to bed. He had barely opened his eyes when she gave him a small smile, one filled with apologizes that she never actually would say out loud.

The funny thing about them is that he didn’t even need to ask what she was doing or why, just simply leaned back against the wall of the cabin, giving her room to tuck herself into the bed with him. She did so without a word at first, getting comfortable with her back to him, her golden waves fanned along his pillow.

“Dreams?” he mumbled, throwing his arm over her waist because honestly he had nowhere else to put it. She didn’t move away. The fire popped and logs settled much like his body, he would never admit that with her this close he had less things to worry about in his sleep.

“Yeah.” She breathed, “When do they stop?”

He chuckled humorlessly, the baritone echoed off the walls and he could feel her shiver at the sound. He wanted to tell her that it would stop the moment they were safe, that the nightmares would end when the enemy was gone but the mountain men were gone. With all intents and purposes, she was safe. So instead he pulled her against his chest in a make shift hug that neither of them were really to ready acknowledge.

“They don’t, they just get easier to deal with.” He spoke into the sunshine of her hair.

“You’re not very good at this comforting thing, are you?” she teased, he could hear the smile on her lips and he couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Hey, you knew that walking in here, princess. Now go to sleep.”

Her body relaxed against his and he would deny anyone that tried to tell him that his body relaxed for the first time in months with her in his arms. Her hand was resting on his, a protective arm that kept her safely in his reach. He wondered if someone were to attack, would he move her out of the way or simply pull himself on top of her to block her? He wasn’t sure.

“Bellamy?”

The rebel leader sighed, “What?”

“You can’t die.”

“Doctors orders?” he teased.

Clarke turned in his grasp so that she was facing his chest, his arm still over her side lazily. He looked down at her and saw the determination in her eyes, the same determination that took down armies. She looked at him as if he were the only thing anchoring her to sanity and he secretly reveled in the knowledge of being needed by someone like her.

“I’m serious. You can’t die. Promise me.”

He felt the corner of his lips twitch at the asinine demand, “I can’t really promise--”

“Just…for once in your life, don’t fight me on this. Just this once.” She pleaded, at least he thought that’s what it was. It sounded like a demand still but he could hear the emotion and something inside him wanted nothing more than to soothe her so instead he just nodded.

“I promise. Happy?”

She smiled and hit his shoulder lightly before turning back over to put her back to him. He took his place at her back once more, his arm around her waist as they both settled again. Her words bounced around in his head for a moment before he could speak up.

“You have to promise too.” He mumbled into her hair. He felt her laugh under his hand.

“I promise.”

 

He woke the next morning to find her already gone, leaving nothing in her wake except for the lack of warmth.

Bellamy stared at the bed, the memory so fresh in his mind he wouldn’t have believed it to have happened months ago. She had started to visit him regularly after that, sometimes staying the night other times just doing work under candle light with another body present. God, she had to be alive. If she was alive, it would be harder to swallow what exactly she had been doing out there with Spacewalker but at least she would be breathing.

At least he could stomach the fact that he was not there to protect her if she just stayed alive.

                _Three: Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at._

He had fallen asleep on the floor. This dreams were plagued with her face, with moments of weakness that he only he was ever able to see. He dreamed of the moment he realized he would do anything for her. That Octavia was no longer the only person he would lay down his life for. It had been just the two of them, they had been ambushed from a meeting with Lexa by another tribe who were not on board with befriending the sky people.

The moment a masked man had come out of the trees, swinging an axe, both leaders went on defense. He had pulled his gun and so had Clarke, both of them trying to take aim but had little time to do so. He shot at his attacker only to have another smash the base of his weapon into his head. He could feel his brain rattle in his skull but a familiar rage filled him. Fight or flight kicked in the moment his gun was pulled from his hands and across the forest floor.

He heard more bullets at his left but was too busy trying to dodge the swings of the blade before him. The opponent was covered with animal skins and scars, tattoos and beads. He looked more animalistic than Lexa’s tribe which made him more of a threat. This was an assassination. There was only three of them and they knew that he and Clarke would be caught off guard.

He dodged another swing, the blade jammed into the bark of a tree and Bellamy took his chance. Pulling out a small dagger on his side, it shoved it up into the man’s jaw, watching the thin skin give way and blood gush onto his hands. The grounder twitch, gurgled, opening his mouth for air to come but his brain quickly shut down.

A war cry had him turning around just in time to watch the other warrior stand and run at Clarke who was scrambling for her lost gun. His feet moved without a thought or a plan, his body didn’t bother to notify his brain that this was not the safest way to proceed but his heart beat fast, pumping him limbs until he got to her.

The man’s knife sliced his forearm and sunk into his shoulder with a sickening ease that made Bellamy yell out in pain. The grounder hissed and pulled the blade out to slam it back down again but before he could two shots rang out and the light in the man’s eyes faded, his body slumped to the ground.

Clarke was quick to sit him down in the grass, not carrying about the open eyed carcass next to them.

“Are you insane?! One more inch down and he would’ve severed something important!” she yelled at him, pressing her hand into his shoulder. He winced and looked up at the sky, the adrenaline was doing a good job of numbing him but the pain from the pressure was still a fucking bitch.

“What was I going to do? Let him stab you?” he hissed, taking a deep breath as Clarke released his shoulder, replacing her hand with his good one, in order to open her pack and pull out her ragtag medical kit.

“I almost had my gun.” She said, sending him a glare. He rolled his eyes.

“Almost isn’t exactly reassuring, princess.” He huffed, letting her move his hand off his shoulder and pull his shirt over his head so that she could see the wound. She gently poured the moonshine on it, watching as the blood washed away and ignoring his cursing.

“You don’t have to save me, Bellamy.” She said, her sky blue eyes fixed on his wound.

He always woke up when she said that. The dream had always faded into nightmare or he would wake from his sleep altogether. When she had said that, he had let the silence speak for him because honestly he couldn’t think of why it bothered him when she said that. It wasn’t until later than he realized that he wasn’t saving her, he was protecting her.

He would never be the prince on a white horse, riding in to save the princess from all the evil doers in the world. He would never be the one to kiss all of her problems away or be the man to rescue her from her enemies. No, he knew that his princess could do that all by herself. She didn’t need saving and she never would.

He wasn’t a prince, he was the dragon. He was the one who breathed fire, fought tooth and nail to keep his princess safe, guarding her from what she could not fight all by herself. He lay in waiting when she would need him, ready to protect her. You see, he realized the difference between the prince and dragon was not their status or appearance. The difference was that the prince thought his prize would be the princess, the dragon was simply content knowing she was safe.

So he let his princess, with his good arm slung around her shoulders, carry him back to camp knowing that she was alive. He was the dragon, breathing fire in his anger, growling in his rage yet curled himself around his princess just to listen to her breathe.

Bellamy looked down at his forearm, the long gash of puckered pink skin looked back at him. He never knew loving someone would be this easy or this quiet.

_Four: You want to know how I got these scars? You see, I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile._

His back was fucked up from his awkward sleeping, his clothes were disheveled but he strode out of his cabin as if he could take on the world. He still had that sinking in his chest, the anger and rage still brimming just under the surface and everyone could see it. They stayed out of his way, the morning routines continued without being instructed yet there was a small group huddled at the gate entrance, Miller and Murphy both armed and with backpacks while Octavia and Raven held out a map Clarke had drawn of the area they knew.

His heavy boot falls made every one look at him as he approached, the sun had just barely risen and already everyone was on edge on the third day that Clarke was missing. Octavia glanced at the gun on his back and the pack he wore and shook her head,

“Bell, we already sent groups to the east and west. Lexa searched her territory yesterday and so did Camp Jaha. If you head north make sure to look down the mountain sides and anywhere they could’ve gotten trapped or…” she let her words fade away when his jaw ticked at the implication.

“Raven, make sure everyone stays on their duties. Octavia, you’re in charge. If anyone gets hurt, you need to figure it out. Clarke taught you enough.” His said, his sister nodded in agreement. “If anything big happens, blow the horn Lincoln gave you. Hopefully we’ll find them before the cavalry--”

“Open the gate!” A guard called from the top of the wall, other guards gasped yelling at the each other as they all descended onto the ground, running towards the gate.

“Open it!” One called. It was a mad house of scrambling, people had stopped working and paid attention while Bellamy’s heart beat faster. The gate was lowered faster than it ever had been before, man power helping the pulley along with the frantic looks upon their faces.

When the gate hit the ground, it was like his heart had fell with it. He watched as a man with mud caked in his hair and face, blood covered his clothes carried another on his back. It was hard for him to tell where one person began and the other ended, too much survival stuck to their skin. Their bodies were a painting of black and reds, of ripped cloth and pieces of skin. It was the most beautiful and the most horrifying thing he had ever seen.

At that moment the dragon stared at the prince with such fury that the moment their eyes met, the fire in his chest blazed hot enough to warm everyone around them. He rushed to them, followed by the others on heels. Hands were grabbing, moving the body the clung to Spacewalkers back into his own arms. He looked at the small body before him wondering how he could’ve seen her only three days ago, with a smile and clean face, laughing with Jasper and Monty.

Every inch of her was covered with mud and caked blood, she was lighter than she should’ve been, her clothes ripped and he could see the make shift bandages on her legs and arms. He held her close to his chest, his feet taking him to the drop ship, the only med bay he had ever known. He needed to protect her.

“Bring him in! Octavia, Raven! I need you to get moonshine and extra bandages from Clarkes cabin! Miller, get Finn cleaned up, check for any major wounds. Murphy, make sure no one comes in.”

No one questioned his words, no one paused but everything fell into line the moment he opened his mouth. He carried her to her table, laying her down before leaning to place his head on her chest. He didn’t care about the blood and mud that got on him, he just needed to hear the muscle move underneath her breast.

_Five: I whispered you stardust!_

“Bell, you need to move.” Octavia said, her eyes shone with a mix of worry and remorse as she touched his shoulder to move to him out of her way. The dark haired girl began to pull off Clarkes jacket, throwing it on the ground to get a better look at her. Pale arms were covered in small cuts and bruises, a cloth wrapped around her upper arm and another long piece of what liked Fin’s shirt wrapped around her middle covered in dark blood.

Bellamy watched closely, the anger inside him mixed with trepidation. Raven ran to the other side of the table, armed with clean bandages and a jar of seaweed. Her eyes widened in fear for her friend while Octavia gently untied each piece of cloth to look at the open wound underneath. Clarke groaned, her fingers twitched.

“Its okay, you’re safe.” Octavia said softly, “We just need to get you cleaned up. Anything we need to know?”

The blonde hissed as she pulled the cloth from the wound, pieces of skin and fluid peeled from her arm.

“Needle...cabinet.” Her voice was hoarse from lack of water, she didn’t bother to open her eyes but instead screwed them shut as Octavia began to pull at the wound on her side. Raven rushed to the metal cabinet in the corner of the room, pulling out the small aid kit that the Ark had traded with them.

Bellamy moved back from the table, he couldn’t take away her pain this time but she was strong. She would make it. He needed to calm down. He backed up until his back hit the wall of the drop ship, the cool metal pressed against the thin shirt he wore that day. He pulled the gun from his body, leaning it against the wall next to him, letting his pack drop to the ground. He took a breath through his nose, letting it slowly come out again. The rage had subsided into worry and it took everything in him not to go over there and get in the way just to make sure she was alright.

“Okay, this is going to hurt Clarke. I need you to keep still though.” Octavia said softly, “Bell, I need you to hold down her shoulders. Raven get her legs.”

He walked over to them, standing at the head of the table. He placed his hands on her shoulders while she curled her fingers around the edge of the table. The princess knew the drill, knew what was coming next. Her blue eyes opened, looking like the clearest ocean against the darkness of her dirty face. He gave her a nod and she closed them again.

Octavia took the jar from the ground and began to pour the moonshine onto the wound on her arm.

Clarke’s screamed, her body arched. Bellamy’s ears echoed and he knew he would have nightmares about this for months to come. Her scream turned into small hisses and whimpers while Octavia pressed the seaweed against the large cut, hoping to rid it of any other bacteria or infection that the moonshine didn’t burn away.

“One more, Clarke, just one more.” Octavia said grabbing another jar as Raven and Bellamy glanced at each other from across the table. They could feel her shuddering under their hands, he could see the small streams of tears fall from the corner of her eye through the muck so that pale clean skin could be seen.

“O, wait, give her a moment to--”

“I can’t, Bell. Clarke has been out in the elements too long. I need to clean the wounds and stitch them up as soon as possible or risk her getting sick.” Octavia gave her brother a pleading look and all he could do was look away, back down to the girl under his hands.

He wanted to tell her it will all be alright but she knew that. She was still holding onto the table, she didn’t fight their hold even after the torture she must be going through because she was smart. She understood. Anger was easy. Rage was understandable. Hate was simple. But what was he supposed to do when all he felt was fear? Fear was dangerous yet it was so much more than that. It was filled with regret mixed with the humbling thought that would do anything to switch places with her. He didn’t know what to say so instead he pressed his forehead against hers for a moment, hoping that she would understand all the things he meant to say.

_Six: I spoke you into sunflowers!_

Octavia gave them a nod, Raven tightened her hold and Bellamy lifted his head from hers to press down on her shoulders. Clarkes knuckles turned white as she gripped the table once more. Octavia began to pour the moonshine over the wound at her side and another scream curdled him blood, made the fire him in rage for something to lash out at because he could not fight the pain she was feeling. Her body shook, her breathing became labored.

Quick rabid inhales that made Octavia’s eyes frantic.

“She’s going into shock!” she said, looking around for anything to help but this wasn’t her job. He could see his own fear mirrored in her face because now they shared a helplessness that seemed to be contagious when it involved Clarke.

“What the hell does that mean?!” he yelled, his hands still on her shoulders, unsure of what to do. He always knew what to do but he wasn’t the doctor. He wasn’t the one with the level head and the nearest exit. Raven moved away, her eyes looking to them.

“What do we do?” she said softly.

Before he could even fathom an answer, Clarkes sharp inhales had stopped. Everyone looked to the girl, all of them waiting for something to happen. But he knew that something was wrong. It was too quiet now. He leaned back over so that his ear was over her mouth.

“She’s not breathing.”

His heart pounded in his chest, his body rushed with adrenaline. She was not allowed to die. She promised him. The dragon inside him burned fire into his limbs and his body moved before he could understand what he was doing. He grabbed her jaw, tilted her head up, plugging her nose with one hand as he breathed into her mouth.

As if the sight jogged her memory, Octavia moved into action, pressing two hands into Clarkes chest and began to count out each compression while Bellamy breathed for her. They had seen Clarke do it before, seen her rush into action but this was different. This was the frantic need for her to live. Another count, another breath.

Bellamy pulled back, allowing Octavia to compress once, twice—

Clarke gasped, her lungs finally expanding the way she needed them to. Her body allowing all of her organs to work through her shock so that she could take in each breath with ease. Octavia grinned. Raven followed suit.

The rebel leader leaned his head against hers, leaning over the table, his hands still touching her as if to remind himself that she was alive. He could feel the tremors in his hands, the fear began to filter through his body leaving him exposed and raw. He could swear that this moment would be scar on his lungs, reminding him that she was breath he breathed and how he hated himself for it.

_Seven: I dipped my hands in forever, touched you infinity, treated you like you were the last molecule of oxygen inside a gas chamber! I was good to you._

He walked out of the drop ship on shaky legs though his head was held high. Honestly he just needed to remind himself of the air outside because being so close to something so fragile was making him claustrophobic. He put his hands on his head, letting his body take in the oxygen he needed because sharing his life with another person so tragically had him ready to march back in there and never let her go.

How could he have let himself do this? Since when had it gotten so irreversible?

There was nothing rational about cutting off the most important parts of himself and placing them inside of small hands that shake, that tremble, that crack like the earth under his feet. There was nothing rational about love. Love was confusing and he missed the days where he could simply invite chaos into tent every night. He missed the days where he could be so sure in his words, be so head strong in his gait. He missed the days where he didn’t look behind him to make sure the courageous princess was there.

He took another breath.

“You okay?”

Bellamy shot his gaze to Murphy. The boy looked him over like he was waiting for something to happen. His cut up hands were on his gun still, guarding the door like the leader had told him to. There was more than the usual look the boy had, there was concern. He had heard the screams, heard the panic but never left his post.

“I’m fine..” Bellamy breathed out, “I’m fine. Just needed some air. Keep an eye out and help Octavia if she needs it.”

He turned to leave, listing all the things he needed to do in his head.

“Is she alright?”

Bellamy paused in his stride, images of their princess writhing in pain and he still had no idea what happened. He felt that stab of terror when he knew she stopped breathing. He closed his eyes, his hands closing into tight fists as he pushed it all away. Just for a moment of peace, that’s all he wanted.

“She’ll be fine. You know her.” With that he continued toward the others, preparing an explanation in his head while thinking of everything he could do to keep his mind off of Clarke. There was nothing more he could do now.

He spent the rest of the day filling his hands with things that didn’t remind him that his princess was just another broken hour glass, she was not made of the steel and fire he thought she was yet he couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on her cabin. When the anger came back, when the rage took over because there was nothing else he could feel, he slammed down his axe over and over into the logsof wood. No one dared ask or interrupt, just glanced at the many pink gashes and cuts along his upper body and knew not to poke the beast that lay underneath.

                _Eight: You want to know how I got these scars?                 I swallowed my pride then it clawed its way out of my mouth._

“Wheres Clarke?”

That voice was like metal scraping against metal in his head, igniting sparks on his fingertips. His hand twitched at his belt, hoping that he had decided to tuck his blade this morning but he knew that he hadn’t. He had been within the walls for two days, only going hunting once so that they had more man power to catch bigger game. He had spent two days making sure Clarke was healing and recovering, two days avoiding Spacewalker because he honestly didn’t know how he was going to react with him.

Bellamy looked up from the desk in his cabin, his eyes catching the apology that Miller had sent to him with his eyes. Murphy was just behind Finn, watching him like a hawk with gun in hand. Finn looked better now, cleaned and dressed with only bruises and cuts to account for. When Miller had told him that it was Clarke to suffer the most injuries out of the two, it took a jar of Monty’s moonshine and a sparring match with another boy to stop him from walking into Finn’s tent and demanding what had happened.

“She’s in her cabin.” He replied evenly.

“Well tell Murphy to stand down! I want to see how she’s doing.” Finn glared at the leader, his shoulders squared and he looked like he was looking for something other than Clarke. It made the sparks under his skin ignite, the irritation turning into indignation.

“No, she needs time to get better. Just leave her the hell alone.” Bellamy bit back, looking back down at the map and lists, hoping to distract himself from wanting to throttle that worried look off of his face. He should’ve never been alone out there with her. She should’ve known better, known not to be alone with him. Fuck, what did he care? She could make her own choices, who she wants to spend time with. He just thought…

“Who are you to make that call?” Finn hissed.

Bellamy bristled, turning step into the boy face, “I’m the one running this place while you went fucking around with the only doctor we have and almost getting her killed. So yeah, I making that fucking call.”

Finn didn’t cower or back down, instead the air in the room changed and for a moment he could see the darkness in the boys eyes much like his own. It was reserved in the spaces of their hearts that the princess occupied, reserved for those who thought to take her away. Spacewalker brought his hands up and shoved the leader back, only making him rock back and set his stance.

Miller and Murphy tensed.

“I saved her!”

Bellamy shoved him back, the boy only stumbled a bit before correcting himself.

“Sorry I didn’t throw a fucking party.” He growled.

The tension rose in the room and there was a moment that he caught Finn raise the corner of his lip. His eyes flashed in rage, Bellamy knew the look. He could see the age begin to fill him, taking away the guilt and the jealousy, replacing it with something more concrete. Rage was understandable and Bellamy had plenty of it.

“Stop acting like her fucking boyfriend, Bellamy! You’re not. You don’t speak for her.” The boy shoved him back again, dark eyes never leaving the others, “You’re just the brawn to her brain so don’t think for one moment that you have anything close to what we had!”

Bellamy was quick to grab the front of Spacewalkers shirt, pushing him back until he stumbled out of the doorway and out into the daylight. Everything inside him was strung tight but there was a pain this chest he couldn’t explain. Like he couldn’t explain the way he slept better with Clarke on his chest. Like he couldn’t explain the way he smiled more when she was next to him. But no matter how many times she came to his cabin, or held his hand or smiled at him, he knew that Finn was right.

So he pulled from his hate, opening up the scars he hid away and yanked out everything he could muster for the prince who dared challenge the dragon. He should’ve known that he was flammable. Clarke should’ve known that he was flammable. Setting fire in the belly of a dragon could burn everyone around him.

He counted on it.

                _Nine: I realized that I was never really your boyfriend.                 I was just your fucking height man._

The moment his fist met with Finn’s face, he could feel the bones and skin gave away under the pressure and he reminded himself that he used to enjoy the feeling. Before the torturing, before the grounders and the guns, he remembered when these sparks were in his soul, when this rage was pumping his blood like a vital organ. He remembered that he enjoyed it. The darkest part of him, born from becoming an adult long before he had a chance to be a kid, liked the idea that for once he was strong enough to do anything he wanted.

Finn was in the dirt only for a second before he pushed himself back onto his feet, fists out and ready. He could see that his other injuries still bothered him but Spacewalker had been itching for this fight long before now. He had wanted to fight him the moment he realized that Clarke now looked to him instead.

“What? You don’t like when people tell you the truth, Blake?”

“The truth? The truth is I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, Spacewalker.”

Finn could dodge a fist but he couldn’t dodge the man heading straight for him, arms out until his body smacked into his, sending them both to the ground. His head slammed against the dirt, only getting in a few good punches to Bellamy’s head and kidney before the brute had him under him, on hand gripping his shirt and the other flying back with a closed fist.

The rebel leader only saw red. He looked at the man Clarke loved, watching as his face realized the mistake he made, letting his fist come down with a sickening smack against the other man’s cheek bone. He could hear Miller yelling at him, he could feel all the eyes on him but all that mattered was the boy underneath him. Bellamy had been wanting to do this since the day he found out Clarke had slept with him, since she had been heart broken by his deception, since he had put her in harm’s way over and over for his sense of peace.

He pulled back his arm again.

Fuck the prince.

                _Ten: I hope your next boyfriend gets small pox!_

Blood splattered across Spacewalkers face, the leader fist was another paint brush against the canvas that broke under it’s touch. He wondered if he would be able to do this if Clarke was watching him. He wondered if he could shove Murphy off his arm—

“Bellamy, you gotta stop, man! He already--”

“Bell, stop it!”

\--if those blue compassionate eyes were watching from afar. No. he didn’t think that he could. Because somewhere along the line, that damnable princess made him want to be better. He was already better than he had been but he guessed this is what people like Abby Griffin called a relapse.

Maybe he should’ve counted to ten.

                _Ten: Yes, I said small pox!_

He paused and it gave Finn the opportunity to send his elbow into the side of his face. He rocked to the right, giving him enough momentum to blink away the blood and send a fist into the rebel leaders jaw. Fighting was easy just like anger. Fighting was animalistic and primal, men fought because it was in their nature. So the moment the table had turned and Finn had landed a punch on him, turning them over, Bellamy didn’t hold back. Not that he ever did to begin with.

The rebel slammed his head into Finn’s, watching as the boy fell over on his left from impact. It took him a minute to blink, to make his world stop spinning but it was too late. Bellamy had grabbed him again, pulling back his arm once more, the look of a gladiator in his eyes.

“Someone stop him!”

“He’s going to kill him!”

“I’m trying, I cant get near him! Miller!”

“Fuck!”

He felt the muscle and cartilage of Finn’s face give way under his fist. This was her fault.

                _Ten: I hate you!_

This was why cities were burned down, why Troy was taken, why Achilles was killed. All for a woman who was too far out of reach, a woman who made the sun rise in her smile while bringing men to their knees in her frown. A woman who’s hands could heal just as easily as they could kill. A woman whose walk was as graceful as it was courageous. She was just as dangerous as she was beautiful.

And it killed him to know that this man had something he wanted but could never have.

“Bell, you’re gonna kill him!”

He pulled his arm back again.

                _Ten: but I still miss you!_

He felt the pull at his arms, two men trying to pull him off of the boy that was a mix of bloody lumps and bruises, coughing up more red from when he must’ve cut his teeth on the inside of his cheek. The rebel leader pulled back for another punch, ready to feel that release and see the work of his own rage. That IV in his arm that kept dripping morphine into the deepest part of his insecurities.

“Bellamy stop! If Clarke saw--”

“He almost let her die!” the leader bellowed, pulling at the arms that held him, ready to put this man’s body in the ground. “She stopped breathing, you son of a bitch!”

“I know, man, I know but he brought her back. You brought her back, you just need to calm down.” Miller said, pulling him farther back so that Octavia could rush to the boy’s side. The prince always gets the credit for saving the princess while the dragon is scorned for just trying to keep her safe to begin with. It’s almost funny.

_Ten: And a part of me still loves you!_

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, yanking his arms away from the other two as he let himself breathe again. Deep inhales, trying to calm the fires inside him, watching as his people whispered and spoke amongst one another as if this were the coliseum and they were betting on the strongest entertainment.

He wondered what look Clarke would have on her face. If she would look at him with pity or disgust, would she scorn him for his feelings or hate him for his lack of empathy. Relapsing back into the man he used to be felt a lot like breaking chains. He would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t put them there in the first place.

“You need someone to take a look at your eye.”

He glanced at the mechanic, her fingers reached to the wound that bled down his face. He moved away from her touch like it would burn him.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

Raven rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, “No you’re not or you wouldn’t be taking out everything on Finn.”

“Like he didn’t deserve it?” he hissed.

He could see the resentment, the hidden pining love in her eyes for the man and he wondered if he had that look too.

“I didn’t say that but it’s not just his fault either. It’s not like he dragged her out of the gates by force.” She said, her voice hollow.

He spit blood onto the ground, “You’re right.”

Raven’s brow furrowed, “I’m right—hey where are you going?!”

_Ten: It gets hard for me to count when I get emotional! Ten!_

Bellamy barely heard the yells for him, barely felt the way Murphy pulled at his arm, trying to get him to turn around. It was easy to block everything out when the only thing he wanted was just across the way. He ignored the metallic taste in his mouth, ignored the cut above his brow where Finn elbow had connected. He didn’t even pause as he threw open the door to a cabin that wasn’t his. His eyes found her startled ones, she had obviously just been changing into clean clothes, the way her hands were pulling down her shirt. Her injuries made it hard for her to move but she could still muster a worried look mixed with irritation.

“What happened? What’s with all the yelling? Is that your blood?”

He stood before her, his dark eyes glaring down into hers.

“What were you doing out there?”

“What?” her brow furrowed and she stood up straighter, a confused look on her face made him more irritable. He approached her until she had to crane her neck to look up at him, his chest rising and falling with his exertion.

“What the hell was so important that you left with him?” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He was used to anger with her, their fights were something of legend. Their words were a storm full of pride and passion, some would think that their love making would be the same. Honestly he wasn’t so sure.

Her sky blue eyes narrowed at him and she crossed arms. He barely saw her wince at the movement of her newly sewn up wound.

“I needed to go and collect more herbs that Lexa had shared with us. The plants didn’t grow far from the camp and Finn offered to go with me. We got in an argument and didn’t realize we had walked too far. There was a land slide.” She explained, never taking her eyes off of his. He could see the ‘I dare you’ in her irises, he could hear the truth in her voice but that little green monster reared its ugly head with his pride.

“And you didn’t think you should bring more people? You didn’t think that maybe it would have been safer?” he growled.

“You’re being ridiculous! You act like I should’ve known that I was going to go tumbling off a cliff! Do you hear yourself?” she practically yelled. Yelling, yelling was easy. Just keep her yelling at him.

“You should’ve known that it wasn’t fucking safe, but let me guess? You wanted alone time with Spacewalker so that changed everything right, princess?”

“It’s not like that and it’s none of your business who I want alone time with, you ass!”

“You’re right, it’s not my business who you want to go fuck in the forest but at least make an effort not to come back half dead next time!”

“I’m sorry your doctor got so hurt, I’ll make a note of it so you won’t have to watch!” she yelled, the fire in her eyes matched his.

He wanted to strangle her as much as he wanted to pull her into his arms. If this was what it meant to love someone, he didn’t think he could survive. But it was too late. He was drowning sailor with a golden haired mermaid pulling at his ankle. He couldn’t run. She was shackled to the most important chapter of his life story, she was pressed into the basement of his eyelids like liquid salvation.

So if he turned away from her, he would only remember her beautiful with amazing underneath her wings and summer storms in her eyes, this gorgeous earthquake.

“I didn’t watch, Clarke! I had to make you breathe again damn it! I had to watch you die just for a second and I will not do that again! So don’t you dare tell me I’m over reacting or I need to calm down because I’m so fucking angry at you-at him-at me that counting to ten doesn’t work this time!”

His voice, he deep baritone echoed off the walls of the small cabin, surrounding them in a flurry of rage that threatened to stifle the meager understanding that could be between them. He wanted to hate her, he had enough scars with her name on them to last him a life time and had she been anyone else, he would’ve. But big blue eyes widened at him, her lips opened as if he had sucked the words from her mouth. She was searching his face and all he could do was close his eyes tight and move back.

“Bellamy--”

_I heard that over ninety percent of human interaction is none verbal so…_

When his mouth found hers it was like someone had doused him with water, putting out the wreckage in his soul, the fire in his veins sizzled out until all that was left was a man of desperation that he barely recognized. They say the first step to solving a problem is admitting that there is one.

He was in love with Clarke Griffin.

It was easy and it was quiet. She held the most volatile parts of him in her hands, never afraid that she might burn because she had fireworks in her chest too. She was the treasure that he guarded, the dragon with rage in his veins. He would never be her prince, because he wanted to be a king in her eyes.

Her lips moved against his, tongues tasting, as if this was their last kiss before war. He moved his fingers into her hair, her jaw so small in his calloused palms. Her hands had gripped his shirt, letting him lean over her so that she didn’t strain her wounds. She tasted of calm and he wanted nothing more than to fall into her and forget the world. But she had other plans as she pulled her lips from his, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her breath soft against his lips. She didn’t cringe away from the blood he was getting on her and he couldn’t help but let the small smile come to his lips. He let it fall quickly after it appeared.

“You promised,” he replied.

“I know,” she said, her hand rested on his forearms, his fingers never let go of the waves of blonde in their grasp. Her fingers caressed the scars absent mindedly and he closed his eyes. He moved them so that she laid down and he crawled into the bed next to her. They didn’t need to speak about the kiss but instead just took it as an open door for an emotion that they didn’t have an outlet to before. She laid on her back to keep pressure off her side and her arm. He laid his head on her breast, his arm slung over her hips as she ran her fingers through his hair. They both took the time to close their eyes, enjoying the silence. The warrior finally at rest for the first time in a week.

“I punched Finn.” He confessed.

“I know.”

“Multiple times.”

“And you’re going to have to apologize.”

The dragon smiled softly, wrapped around his princess protectively as she lulled him into the deepest sleep he had in years.

_Ten._

 

 

 

_(Poem by Rudy Francisco)_


End file.
